


tell me there's nobody else in the world  (tell me I'm wrong, tell me I'm right)

by cherryvanilla



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-04
Updated: 2010-12-04
Packaged: 2017-10-13 12:37:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/137424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryvanilla/pseuds/cherryvanilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There'll be a knock on your back door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tell me there's nobody else in the world  (tell me I'm wrong, tell me I'm right)

**Author's Note:**

> Title and summary by My Morning Jacket.

The thing is, Eames is so scorching hot why wouldn’t Arthur want to fuck him?

…yeah, why wouldn’t he?  
______________________________________________

Ariadne leans over her drafting table and says, “My god Arthur, how have you not tapped that yet?”

Arthur nearly chokes on his pen cap. “Excuse me?”

Ariadne lifts her chin, and Arthur follows the movement. It reveals Eames, bending over to pick up an eraser that had just fallen on the floor. The fabric of his khakis pull tight across the expanse of Eames’ ass, and Arthur’s throat goes dry. When Eames straightens he turns to them, but his eyes are on Arthur alone. While his eyebrows rise in amusement, his eyes darken with desire. Arthur watches his tongue swipe out to crease along his bottom lip.

A millisecond later Eames is off and running with Yusuf. Arthur clears his throat. “Honestly, Ariadne, there’s a fine line between wide-eyed curiosity and nosiness. You hover greatly over the latter.”

“And you’re all about deflection. I saw the way he just ate you up with his eyes. You’re telling me it did nothing to you?”

“That’s what I’m telling you.”

Ariadne narrows her eyes. “All I know is if Eames was interested in vaginas I’d be all over that, gender politics be damned.”

Arthur does choke on his pen cap that time.  
________________________________________________

Two days later, Yusuf says, “Seriously Arthur, how can you stand it? If I weren’t straight and he looked at me the way he’s been looking at you all morning, I’d be on top of him before I picked my jaw off the floor.”

“Thanks, Yusuf, I’ll sleep better now that I’m privy to that information.”

Yusuf pats him on the back. “Have you no soul, Arthur?”

The thing is, Arthur has a soul and a heart, and a sex drive and Eames is personally aware of each of these things. Or so he should be.  
______________________________________

The reason Arthur does and does not want to fuck Eames is one in the same: because he already has.

Once, years ago in Madrid in an oceanfront suite at dusk, Eames had Arthur on his back and ran his tongue ran a slow line up the curve of his neck and sucked a dark bruise into the flesh. Arthur gripped first at the sheets and then at Eames, pulling him even closer, locking his legs tighter around him, pushing upward on each trust.

"Christ, you’re incredible beneath me," Eames breathed and it made Arthur shiver.

He moved again, fucking himself up onto Eames, pulling him in by the heels of his feet and twisting his hips. “Did you.. god… think I would just lay here and take it?”

Eames pulled back enough to look at him. “No. I always knew you’d be like this, Arthur. Always knew you would fall to pieces with me, around me.” The words were honest and open, as was the look on Eames’ face. Arthur gasped at the feel of Eames’ cock twitching inside him and reached his hands up to cover Eames’ eyes.

“Please just shut up and fuck me,” Arthur moaned. Eames shook his hands away and gave a vicious bite to Arthur’s bottom lip.

“As you wish,” he gritted out and unabashedly fucked Arthur into the mattress. Even with Eames’ thick cock filling him open and even with his balls tightening against his body, Arthur’s mind flickered to The Princess Bride. He wondered, while experiencing some of the most amazing sex of his life, if Eames knew the film. The 17-year old kid in him still equated those words with love. As it turned out, Arthur couldn’t allow his mind to stop working even when an incredibly hot guy bit his way down his neck or moaned in his ear or scratched at his chest or jerked him off or for the love of Christ _fucked him into oblivion_. Arthur came with a strangled cry that was in part frustration at his own ridiculous self, but more so the intense euphoria of a great orgasm.

Eames had fallen asleep immediately, still inside him, so it was Arthur who had to move Eames off onto his side, pull the condom off Eames’ dick, and do all the non-sexy clean up bullshit that no one ever talks about in movies or even real life.

Arthur stared at Eames for a while and tried to decide exactly how he felt. He didn’t know until later when Eames woke up, blindly reached for him and started fucking him again. Their hands intertwined; Eames’ thumb ran over Arthur’s knuckles and his breath stuttered against his ear. Arthur arched upward with eagerness and Eames growled and pressed a hand to the small of his back. Then Arthur had rolled on top, reacquainted himself with Eames’ body, and Eames gazed up at him with bright eyes and said, “bloody incredible,” again.

Arthur threaded their fingers together again, both hands this time, and lifted them close and level to his own chest as he rose and fell. His eyes closed on their own accord each time he took more of Eames’ cock. Arthur bore down hard, ground himself onto Eames and gasped when Eames’ fingers tightened around his own, forcing his eyes to open. When they did, the answering gaze was wide and Eames looked at Arthur as if he was something foreign. And then he uttered a single word, “Arthur,” shocked and almost pained. But Arthur was too gone, head thrown back and rocking harder and faster as Eames’ broke apart inside him, to even hear it much less care.

When Arthur came back from the bathroom with a washcloth (and griping under his breath about his second time on clean-up duty) Eames was already dressed and doing up his cufflinks. Arthur lay back down and bit his lip, because he was a man, dammit, and his lip wasn’t going to quiver and he wasn’t going to say something like, ‘Leaving so soon?’ because he was just fucked twice in the span of 3 or so hours so he couldn’t very well complain, could he?

Eames finished lacing his shoes and finally turned to Arthur. After a brief hesitation, he pressed a perfunctory kiss into Arthur’s brow. “Thanks for that, luv. Best be off, though.”

Arthur ‘mmm’d’ noncommittally and said, “Pleasure was all mine. You’re one hell of a fuck, Eames.” The bite behind the words was directed more at himself than Eames. After all, no one told him to fall in love during a fuck like a virgin teenaged girl.

Eames smiled then, but it was sharp. “Yes, well. Until our next job.”

And then he was gone.  
_____________________________________________

The span of time prior to the Fischer job was their longest without seeing one another. After all, Eames hadn’t shown up to the funeral and Arthur had been off getting deeply involved with Cobb, doing things he never thought he would and so Eames wasn’t exactly on his mind.

The times before the Fischer job and after Madrid were filled with Arthur glaring at Eames with a pinched look on his face and Eames flippantly behaving as though he couldn’t understand why. But Arthur knew Eames wasn’t a fool. In fact, he’s fucking brilliant. Therefore, it wasn’t possible that Eames didn’t realize the change in Arthur’s behavior Pre Madrid and Post Madrid. True, Arthur had hated Eames once (in the military) but countless jobs together with Dom and Mal had seen hate transitioned into camaraderie, desire and a genuine enjoyment of company.

In the times before the Fischer job, Eames never brought up that night yet he still flirted. Arthur wasn’t sure if Eames’ apparent revisionist history or his change in demeanor stung the most. Because you see, Eames would still flirt, but suddenly, shockingly, it lacked real intent. Eames must have thought Arthur to be the stupid one.

He was probably right.  
_____________________________________

In Arthur’s mind, three eras now exist: Pre Madrid, Post Madrid, and Post Fischer. The extreme latter will not allow him to brush off Ariadne and Yusuf’s incessant remarks. Because at its start, the Fischer job was the (Post Madrid) norm: Arthur was guarded and Eames was flirting like a schoolboy with no real intent. But then Eames had looked at him in that damned hotel room and Arthur had felt a surge of affection watching him close his eyes and Eames had eyed him from the baggage carousel but hadn’t taken it any further.

Now, he was working his third Post Fischer job with Eames and each has contained elevated levels of flirtation filled with unabashed intent and reckless abandon.

Pretty soon, the current job had reached its climax, cumulating in a quick getaway from the mark’s hotel and Eames and Arthur sharing a cab while Ariadne and Yusuf trailed behind. Eames was breathing heavy and his fingers thrummed against the leather seat. Arthur glanced at him briefly, jaw tight. Eames’ mouth quirked in a smile.

“Adrenaline. Bloody brilliant, wouldn’t you agree?”

Arthur ‘mm’d’ noncommittally, and Eames’ eyes flashed with something indefinable.

“What?”

All of Eames’ energy seemed to seep out of him in that one instant, his body now rigid.

“It’s of no significance.”

Arthur turned to him fully, frowning. “ _What_ is of no significance, Jane Austin? What the hell just happened here?”

Eames looked at Arthur, mouth set in a firm line. “You reminded me of something. Caught me off guard, s’all.”

Arthur scratched at the back of his scalp. “You’re impossible.”

“Oh, bugger off, Arthur!”

He nearly jumps because Eames is furious and it’s been a long time since that emotion has been directed at him. He glances at the cab driver, who meets his eye in the rearview.

“Wha--?”

“ _I’m_ impossible? Because I don’t care to share a feeling with you? Because do you know what you’d do if you heard it? You’d bolt out of this bloody car.”

“Why don’t you try me?” says Arthur, softly, because Eames’ face is red and his eyes are angry and it’s not a good look.

“I’ll pass.”

Arthur doesn’t need to bolt anywhere, because the taxi rolls to a stop in front of his apartment just then. “Eames..”

“Bugger off,” he repeats, but this time he just sounds tired. He tells the driver to take him to the airport.

“Where are you go..”

“Someplace warm. Preferably with lots of half naked blokes.”

“Fuck you,” Arthur spits and slams the door, leaving Eames to settle his cab fare.  
_____________________________________

Arthur’s apartment complex in L.A. is part Singles, part Tales of the City and he loves it even though he could afford so much more. The living room contains a single expansive window, with drapes down to the floor which he leaves half open at all times. It looks overlooks the courtyard and is just left of his back steps. Arthur sees the figure climbing the stairs right before he hears the knock. He seizes for a moment and grabs his gun from the coffee table. This is the hazard of working in his own backyard, even if the job was low-level espionage.

Arthur moves quickly to the other side of the door and cocks his gun.

“Darling, if you shoot my head off you’ll have to misfortune of explaining it to my mum, and I can tell you she has quite the acid tongue.”

Sighing in a mixture of irritation and relief, he flings the door open. “What the hell are you thinking coming through the back entrance? I thought you were fucking Phillips.”

Eames stares at him, blinking slowly and taking in Arthur’s cotton grey sweatpants, his black and red Pearl Jam T-shirt, and rumpled hair. “Fuck this,” Eames mumbles, as if to himself, and hauls Arthur against his body, one large hand palming the small of his back and dipping lower to his ass while his mouth wages an assault on Arthur’s lips. Arthur kisses back for fifteen seconds exactly and pulls away just as Eames is about to lick between his lips.

“Stop,” Arthur breathes. Eames’ hips are rotating slowly and his hand is palming Arthur’s butt through the loose, soft fabric of his pants.

“No,” Eames groans against Arthur’s jaw and nips at his stubble. “I’m completely mad for you and I won’t stop anymore.”

Arthur pushes him away and he stumbles back against the door. “Then you never should have fucking left.”

Eames sighs and leans his head back. His hands are shaking as he rubs them over his face. “In the cab. The way you ‘mm’d’. It was just like that night. After I said I was leaving. And your voice, Arthur. Christ, I think about those words nearly every day. You damned didn’t care and don’t tell me otherwise. I felt too much like utter ponce, and I couldn’t. I had to..”

Arthur stalks toward him and slams his hand down on the door next to Eames’ head. “I only said that after you said you were leaving!”

“And I only decided to leave because I couldn’t very well wait for you to say the whole thing was a mistake and it couldn’t happen again when I’d already fallen in love with you!”

They were screaming in each other’s faces and breathing hard but by the time Eames finishes, Arthur’s hand slips down the edge of the door and he feels like he’s been hit by a two-by-four.

He laughs, feeling insane, and ducks his head against Eames’ chest. “Can you check your damn totem, please?”

“Eh, why?”

“Because if this is real, we’ve been living in a fantasy world of our own making for years.”

“Arthur, what on earth?”

Arthur shakes his head and looks up at Eames. “Shut up, Eames. I fucking love you and there’ll be time for talking later but now just shut up and kiss me.”

“As you wish,” Eames whispers and touches their lips together. Arthur melts against him.

[end]

**Author's Note:**

> writing soundtrack: Phone Went West (My Morning Jacket), Sweet Disposition (Temper Trap), Melody of a Fallen Tree (Winsdor for the Derby), In a Different Place (Ride)


End file.
